


Battlements

by Jennie_D



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, Post-Episode: s08e06 The Iron Throne, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, Post-Season/Series Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:02:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21667891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennie_D/pseuds/Jennie_D
Summary: After her coronation, Sansa stands on the Winterfell's battlements as the snow falls down around her.A letter helps her feel less alone.
Relationships: Jon Snow & Sansa Stark
Comments: 3
Kudos: 44





	Battlements

Sansa stood at the battlements, wind whipping through her hair. The snow was falling thick and fast. It was likely the coronation guests would be stuck here at least another week.

Which was all they needed considering the already depleted nature of their stores.

She sighed and tried to put it from her mind. There was nothing to be done about it while the snow still fell. After the storm broke she’d send out extra hunters. In the morning she’d meet with Lord Manderly and Lady Karstark, ask them what could be done to increase imports and fishing.

A wry smile twisted her lips. She’d imagined being crowned a queen since girlhood. But in her childish daydreams, she had pictured spending the week of her coronation in the arms of a handsome and noble king. Not alone in the snow thinking about imports. Life was what was it was she supposed.

She was truly happy to be the seat of an independent north.

She just wished her family could be here to see it.

Sansa sighed.

She’d long learned to live with the ghosts of the dead. No, it was the absence of the living that truly hurt.

Sansa drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders and tried not to become lost in thoughts of loneliness.

Arya had been at sea two weeks already. Their parting had been fearful, tearful. They both knew the waters west of Westeros were treacherous and few had ever returned from them. But Sansa also knew it wasn’t Arya’s way to stay in one place long. It was hard to resent her sister for finding her own happiness when their lives had been so spare of joy.

But it would have been nice to spend some true time with her, time untouched by war and terror and death. Sansa felt she never fully came to know Arya as she was now, grown. She was left, mostly, with memories of childhood.

Bran was busy with his own coronation, and his new advisors had declared it would be too trying for him to make a second trip across the continent so soon. Especially given the winter snows.

Sansa suspected this was a convenient excuse, a way for certain advisors to avoid her.

But part of her was relieved.

She told herself this relief was for diplomatic reasons only. The peace between north and south was tenuous still, and it was good to not have to worry over political tensions with so much else going on in the household.

Or perhaps, she also thought to herself, she was relieved at Bran’s absence because he was largely the reason for her solitude. He had refused to truly stand up for Jon, had given the departing Targaryen army far too much say in his fate. It still made Sansa’s blood boil to think of Jon rotting at the Wall.

To add insult to injury, Bran had managed to steal much of Sansa’s household. Ser Davos and Samwell Tarly had been faithful advisors to Jon, to the North. Now both served Bran in King’s Landing.

Even Brienne, Ser Brienne, who Sansa trusted with her life, who had been a true protector and friend, was gone. Brienne had been Sansa’s sworn shield, every inch the gallant knight from the sweet songs she’d once loved. Brienne was dear to Sansa.

But Brienne had seemed so miserable in the North after the war’s end, after that brute Jaime Lannister had fled south. Sansa had no desire to trap her, no desire to keep Ser Brienne in a place that made her miserable.

So Sansa had told Brienne she could leave if she wished. She would always have a place at Sansa’s home and hearth, but it need not be her only place. Brienne had seemed relieved, and asked to join Bran in King’s Landing. Sansa’s heart had broken, but she’d released Ser Brienne from her vows. And Sansa was pleased, truly she was, that Ser Brienne now commanded Bran’s Kingsguard.

But the world without Brienne seemed a less safe place. And a far lonelier one.

So yes, Sansa had several reasons to be relieved for Bran’s absence. Several good reasons. Normal reasons.

It certainly had nothing to do with his eyes that looked at nothing and saw everything.

With the way he’d coldly spoken of how beautiful she was on the worst night of her life.

With how his voice seemed to carry prophecies and threats.

With the words he’d uttered emotionlessly that made her question, made her wonder, did you know? Could you have stopped all this pain?

She heard his whispers in her mind even now.

_Why do you think I came all this way?_

_You were exactly where you were supposed to be._

She shuddered and turned her mind away.

She looked at the snow, piling and piling. Two boys were in the yard, throwing large chunks of ice at each other. She bit the inside of her cheek.

It was Jon’s absence that stung the most. Jon had given her this, her home, her power. Everything. Not out of ambition, not because he wanted to win the great tiresome game of power. Simply because he was an older brother who longed to keep his sister safe. Keep the North safe.

He was a good man. He deserved none of what happened.

Even through her gloves, Sansa could feel her nails digging into her palms. She hated, truly hated, the idea of Jon alone in the ice forever. In the place where he’d been despised, betrayed, murdered.

The two wandering Brothers who delivered him to Castle Black had stopped in at Winterfell on their way back down. Sansa had asked them how Jon fared. Apparently he had barely said a word on the way up to Castle Black. It was a six week journey, yet he’d been mute for most of it.

“The condemned can be like that sometimes, your Grace,” one of them had said with pompous authority. She hated him for it.

But more than that, Sansa hated Tyrion Lannister. For Sansa was no fool. It was clear as day that the murder of the Dragon Queen had been Tyrion’s idea.

Sansa did not mourn the Dragon Queen. The woman had, after all, slaughtered thousands of innocents, and she’d been a true threat to the safety of the North. Secretly, or well perhaps not so secretly, Sansa was glad to be rid of her.

But Sansa hated the manner of her death. It had made Jon into a criminal, a Queenslayer, a pariah throughout the realm.

People spoke openly now about Jon’s supposed wicked bastard blood. The truth of his birth was still whispered rumor, and now that’s all it would ever be.

She’d heard some southern bard had already composed a song titled “The Dragon Whore and the Bastard King.” It’s contents were, apparently, too vile for Sansa’s ears.

Sansa knew her brother well. Stabbing a woman in the heart was not Jon’s way. He was too like father. Had the same stubborn belief in honor. If he thought the Dragon Queen deserved to die for her crimes, the Jon Sansa knew would have gone about it differently. On a field of battle, or a trial by combat, or something else idiotic but brave. He wouldn’t commit true murder. Not without intense prompting.

Yet such a death was _precisely_ Tyrion’s way. Sansa had heard of Tywin Lanniser, dishonorably shot in the privy. Had heard of Shae, one of the few friends Sansa had in the horrible capitol, found strangled in bed. Using intimacy to get close to someone and kill them had worked for Tyrion before. She did not doubt he’d put the idea in Jon’s head.

She constantly wondered what the imp had said to convince Jon to do it.

Sansa gripped the battlement wall, the stone slick with snow. A few months past, on this very spot, she’d put her trust in Tyrion. Had told him Jon’s greatest secret, the greatest secret in the realm. She thought it would rid them of the troublesome Dragon Queen, would help the North, would help Jon.

And now Jon would die at the Wall, his reputation forever destroyed. While Tyrion Lannister was Hand of the godsdamn King.

And she was alone.

Sansa had come to this spot near every day since returning from King’s Landing, thinking on what she could have done differently.

She should never have breathed a word to Tyrion Lannister. Maybe she could have told Lord Varys instead. Or spoken to Ser Davos, he’d been speaking of a potential marriage alliance. Perhaps she could have brought the Lady Missendei into her confidence, told her a bit of the truth. The girl had been truly loyal to Daenerys, but she did seem gifted at easing tensions.

Or maybe she should have just kept Jon’s word to herself and said nothing. At least waited until the war was done and spent proper time planning.

She rearranged old pieces, reset the board, played the game again and again in her mind. She tried to remember old lessons she’d learned, from Cersei and Littlefinger and so many others. How could she have stopped the slaughter of innocents, gotten the Dragon Queen to trust her, or killed the Dragon Queen quietly? How could she have preserved both the North and her family? How could she have kept them all together? How could she have saved Jon?

It was useless to dwell on the past, she knew. But she felt compelled, almost possessed by it. Anger and what-ifs and doubts danced round and round in her mind.

Even the feel of the cool crown on her head had done nothing to quiet these thoughts. The Northern lords had called “Queen in the North!” And Sansa’s face had held the quiet pride befitting her new station.

But doubt still swirled and swirled.

She thought she’d grown, learned to play the game. But she’d failed, failed those she loved, failed her family. And now they were all gone and she was alone, alone with fickle northern lords she could not trust, and gods she wished more than anything that she could somehow change it all.

There were tears on her cheeks, Sansa realized suddenly. Petyr’s voice sounded in her mind, telling her to never show weakness where others could see. She hated that his memory still lingered. But what was left to her except cruel ghosts?

“Your Grace.”

Sansa was startled, but did not jump. When she turned to greet the newcomer, her face and voice were smooth and emotionless.

“Yes, what is it?”

Maester Wolkan stood there, hovering a bit nervously.

“Your Grace, I wanted to provide warning. Lord Dormund was asking after you rather persistently. Something about whaling rights.”

When he was met with no response, the maester began to stammer.

“I - I realize my - your Grace I - I know it’s a small matter but - but I assumed you’d want some warning-”

She interupted to ease his nervousness. “Thank you maester, truly. It is much better to know this now than to be accosted by a lord over a small matter in public.”

Sansa turned back towards the horizon and let out a long breath. “I planned to meet with Lord Maderly and Lady Karstark over another matter in the morning. But I can spend some time next afternoon to speak with Lord Dormund about his concerns. Tell him I look forward to the meeting. Perhaps we could include some of the other coastal Lords. Afterall, we may as well use this time trapped together in the snow for something.”

Maester Wolkan nodded and turned to leave. Then he paused, looking as if he had something else to say.

“Please maester, speak.”

“Your Grace, I hope you will not - that is - well I have a letter for you.”

She turned. “A letter? How could a raven arrive in this storm?”

The maester was afraid to meet her eyes. Sansa found it tiresome. Somehow she would have to dissuade him from such timidness.

“The raven arrived two nights ago, your Grace. But it’s not urgent and - it is a letter I thought you might like to spend time with. With all the guests arriving and the coronation and the feast, there was barely a moment to breathe.”

 _He’s trying to keep secrets, keeping things from you_. Sansa swallowed, forcing Petyr’s voice down. It was clear the nervous maester meant no harm.

“Where is this letter from?”

“The Wall, your Grace. It’s from the former - from Lord - it’s from your brother.”

She breathed in quickly, held it behind her teeth.

“Where-”

He held up a scroll.

“I’ve ensured you’ll have privacy in your chambers for the next hour.”

A full hour alone was a rare thing when so many noble households were in residence. That was once of the reasons she had retreated up to the battlements, for a moment’s rest from the chaos. It must have been difficult for Wolkan to secure a full hour alone. Sansa found herself touched by the maester’s efforts.

_You should scold him, chastise him for keeping the letter from you. You can never let someone beneath you know you so well._

“In the future, maester, I would appreciate being told of any correspondence addressed to me as soon as possible.”

He dropped his eyes. She took the scroll from his hand delicately.

“That said, I appreciate your consideration. And thank you, truly, for allowing me the time to read it properly. Time is precious, these days.”

Sansa gave Maester Wolkan a small smile, which he shyly returned. Perhaps she did still have some friends in this castle.

“I look forward to seeing you this evening at dinner. I believe there’s a bit of that Dornish red you like still in our stores. I will make sure you get a glass before the lords can drink it all.”

He truly smiled then.

“Thank you, your Grace.”

He bowed and left the battlements.

Sansa looked down at the scroll in her hand. She was almost afraid to break the seal. This would not be an easy letter to read.

With one last look at the snowy hills of the North, she retreated to her chambers.

* * *

Sansa sat heavily on a cushioned seat. Slit the seal open. Unrolled it. Steeled herself.

The unrolled scroll revealed Jon’s somewhat subpar penmanship. Her breath hitched.

She started to read.

_Dearest Sansa,_

_I write to you not from the Wall, but beyond it. Upon my arrival, Tormund was waiting for me, and asked me to help him settle the Free Folk in the wilderness. I admit, I was relieved to see a friendly face, to have a task that allowed me to feel useful._

_The raven bringing you this is technically supposed to be used for communication with Castle Black. But our time together when I was released was short, and there is much to say. I hope the Watch forgives me._

_I know my crimes are terrible. I know what I have done is beyond forgiveness. I know I cannot hope for forgiveness, from you or the people of the Realm. I hope, more than anything, that the stain of my sin does not come to reflect upon you. Upon the North._

_I know, given what I have done, that I am in no place to offer you advice. And I know you likely do not think yourself in need of any. You will rule the North more wisely than I ever could._

_But if I could offer you anything, it would be this._

_Rule with kindness._

_I know kindness has been in short supply these last many years. I was shown it rarely, and in your life it was rarer still._

_But as I travel with the Free Folk, I cannot help but notice what an eye towards fairness they have. How they care about justice, about making each other happy. And I know this is what the North needs. What will help the North rebuild._

_Father ruled with kindness. I know many have called him foolish or soft, but he was not. He was doing right for as many as he could. That is the best any of us can do._

_Do not let those that harmed you guide your hand in your rule. Instead, remember the goodness you were taught in childhood._

_I know you will rule wisely, well, kindly. More than I ever could. You are, after all, wise and good and kind. You are truly Father’s daughter._

_I wish you well. Know that though I cannot be with you in body, I am with you in spirit. Always._

_But I must leave now, for dinner is ready and Tormund is calling._

_With Love,_

_Jon_

Sansa wiped the tears prickling at her eyes.

She was glad. Glad Jon had written her, glad he was not simply friendless at the Wall. Glad she was able to hear from him, at least once more.

She smiled. She’d try to take his advice to heart. The world, dark as it was, could use kindness.

She still worried about his state of mind. But at least he was not alone.

And neither was she. Not truly.

Sansa stood, straightened her gown. She checked her eyes in the looking glass, smoothed down her hair, and went to face her guests once more.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this forever ago and just found it. Figured I'd post it here!


End file.
